


52 Pickup

by unnaturalhistory



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, baby's first Goddard mission, budding unhealthy relationships are the best kind of unhealthy relationships, inaccurate descriptions of how bombs work, not shippy til the end, spoilers up to Kansas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unnaturalhistory/pseuds/unnaturalhistory
Summary: When Jacobi told Eiffel about his first mission, he didn't quite tell the whole story.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 52 Pickup: A card "game" requiring two players and a pack of 52 cards.  
> The first player holds all of the cards. The second has to clean up their mess. 
> 
> (thanks to torrentialTriages for the feedback)

Up until a straggler had armed the bomb, Jacobi reflected, his first mission had been going so _well_. They had infiltrated the building without incident, knocked out most of the staff with some sort of gas Kepler had shoved into the vents, and made it to the basement testing lab without running into any resistance.

So of course, Jacobi really shouldn’t have been so surprised when things went utterly haywire. And yet, standing there in front of the most godawful complicated probably-incredibly-painfully-explosive device he had ever seen, somehow he still managed to be surprised. This was what they had come to steal for the edification of the Great Goddard, Hallowed Be Its Name, but apparently one of the scientists had thought he needed to be _clever._

And now here they were, faced with a large, friendly countdown timer that read _5:_2,_ the centre digit obscured by a bit of brain matter that had landed on it after Major Kepler had taken care of the clever one. Jacobi was frozen in place, not sure whether to stare at the corpse, the man who had so casually executed him, or the bomb that was going to kill them both in a few minutes.

“Mr. Jacobi?” Kepler’s voice was infuriatingly calm, given the circumstances.

Jacobi continued to stare at the monstrosity. “It’s… a bomb?” he ventured. When Kepler just stared at him expectantly, Jacobi spread his hands in the universal gesture of _fuck if I know_. “A… big bomb?” Kepler raised an eyebrow, and Jacobi dropped his hands with an exasperated sigh. “It’s a goddamn prototype, what do you want from me?”

That was the right question, apparently. A small smile tugged at the corner of Kepler’s mouth, and there was the faintest remnant of a drawl when he spoke. “Why, Mr. Jacobi, I want you to take that thing apart, quick as you like.”

Jacobi stared at him. “…Sir?” The _are you kidding me_ went unspoken, but understood by both parties. Kepler didn’t move.

Without much of a choice, Jacobi turned back to the bomb and carefully opened up the access panel. The inside was even uglier than the outside, a mess of wires, circuit boards and metal that made his head spin just looking at it. “Whatever the guy who made this was on, I think I want some,” he muttered, and turned back to Kepler. “Sir, you hired me to be a professional, and my _professional_ opinion is that we get our asses out of here approximately ten minutes ago. I don’t have a clue where to _start_ with this!”

Kepler stared at him for a long moment, a now-familiar look that nevertheless pinned him to the spot, then turned to the door. Relieved, Jacobi stood to follow… and Kepler pulled the door closed.

Jacobi felt his heart stutter at his chest at the quiet sound of the electronic lock clicking into place. “S-sir?” He managed to choke out. A second later the anger hit, and he was dashing across the room, grabbing Kepler by the collar as if to shake him. “What the _hell_ did you do that for, you’re going to get us killed!”

Kepler barely seemed to react to being grabbed; he merely brought his hands up and placed them gently atop Jacobi’s. His eyes were perfectly steady and perfectly cold, and when he spoke his voice was perfectly flat. “I brought you here to do a job,” he said, enunciating every word, “and you are going to do it. Now, _go take that bomb apart_.”

Something about those eyes, that tone of voice, reached into something primal within Jacobi. One moment he was staring at Kepler, wide-eyed and panicked and enraged, and when he next had control of his faculties he was kneeling next to the frankenbomb. The display read _3:_9_. The corpse lay motionless, six inches to his right. Jacobi’s hands shook ever so slightly. “Sir—”

 _He’s going to get us killed,_ Jacobi thought, panicked, but then – _no, he’s…_ trusting  _me._ Somehow, that thought was even more chilling, but as the chill spread down to his hands, hovering over the exposed wires, he realized that they weren’t trembling anymore.

“Get to _work_ , Mr. Jacobi.” Kepler’s tone brooked no argument.

Jacobi had always been good at following orders.

For a brief time, nothing else existed in the world except him, the machine, and Kepler’s eyes – he didn’t even need to see those eyes to feel them on him, like the muzzle of a gun pressed to the back of his skull. It was delicate work, frustrating, but eventually he was down to two wires; one red, one black. In the tangled mess that was this bomb, either could be the one to defuse everything. It was like one of those _stupid goddamn movies_ , and Jacobi couldn’t help but laugh.

Of course, that was when reality came back with a vengeance. The corpse beside him, the killer behind him, the huge, fuck-off bomb that would destroy them all. The clock read _1:_6_. Kepler seemed to sense the shift, because Jacobi could hear the frown in his voice when he spoke.

“Mr. Jacobi?”

“I—” Jacobi tried to swallow around the lump in his throat, but his mouth was too dry. “Sir, I can’t—” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the timer, inexorably counting down to their deaths.

            _1:_1_

_1:_0_

_0:_9_

He didn’t even hear Kepler coming up behind him until the man was leaning in over his shoulder, peering into the heart of the machine. “You’re nearly done, Mr. Jacobi; now isn’t the time to start second-guessing things.”

Jacobi couldn’t even speak. For a moment he was back in Ohio, surrounded by the sound of screams, the scent of charred flesh – and then Kepler’s fingers were digging into his shoulder, hard enough to hurt.

“ _Mr. Jacobi_.”

Jacobi took a shuddering breath. “Sir.”           

“Cut the wire.”

“But I don’t know—”           

“Yes,” Kepler said, “you do.” His grip tightened, and Jacobi thought if the man squeezed any tighter, something would have to break. “Cut the wire. _Now._ ”           

And Jacobi, hands trembling, reached out and cut the black wire.           

For a moment, nothing happened.           

The next, nothing.           

When nothing continued to happen, Jacobi allowed himself to look at the timer: _0:_1_. “Just like a goddamn movie,” he said, wonderingly, and then he started to laugh. He was doubled over with it, belly aching, when Kepler’s hand touched his shoulder again. When he looked up, the man was smiling like the cat who got the cream.           

“Good work, Mr. Jacobi,” he said, lightly. “I knew my faith in you wasn’t misplaced. Now, let’s get this packed up and get back home.” At that he held out a hand, and waited.

“Yes, sir,” Jacobi replied, wiping tears from his eyes. Taking Kepler’s hand, he marveled at how easily the other man was able to pull him to his feet. But then, steadying himself, he heard the sound of an electronic lock clicking open. Over Kepler’s shoulder, he saw the door begin to open, and the barest glint of light on metal.

There was no time to think. Yelling something, even he didn’t know what, Jacobi dragged at Kepler’s arm, managing to halfway switch their places just before the sound of a gunshot split the air. Something slammed into his left arm and Jacobi stumbled, but Kepler had already drawn his own weapon. He fired it over Jacobi’s shoulder, the noise deafening; turning to follow the bullet, Jacobi saw a figure in a white coat slump to the ground.

Jacobi’s ears were still ringing when Kepler grabbed him roughly by the hair and dragged him in for a kiss. Too surprised to object, Jacobi could only note that the man tasted faintly of whiskey and blood, though the latter might have been his own. Warren Kepler was also, Jacobi realized dazedly, rather a good kisser.

When they finally broke apart, Kepler took a deep breath. “ _Very_ good work, Mr. Jacobi,” he said, with just a hint of a drawl colouring his voice. “I think this… partnership will work out just fine. Don’t you?”

Jacobi nodded, head still spinning. “Did-- did that just--?”

“You should get that arm looked at when we get back,” Kepler said, stepping back.

“Yeah…” Jacobi managed, finally getting a look at his arm. The bullet had just winged him; the gash on his arm looked nasty, but clean. He’d had worse. His back straightened reflexively when Kepler looked at him expectantly. “Yes, sir,” he corrected himself.

Kepler smiled, predatory. “Come on, Mr. Jacobi. We have work to do.”


End file.
